


Breathing Techniques

by rhenia_ra



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-26
Updated: 2010-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhenia_ra/pseuds/rhenia_ra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It seems," he says, voice muffled by the man's shirt, "that you have an easier time taking her advice than I do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing Techniques

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Mommy Issues](http://archiveofourown.org/works/96992). It's not necessary that you read it first, but it might help.

  
Kirk, Spock thinks, has been acting strange as of late. This is not to say that the man is normal by any standard: human, Vulcan, or even a mixture of the two. Kirk is, to say the least, an abnormal being. These past days, however, he has been acting odder than usual- sneaking glances at Spock when he thinks the man is preoccupied; standing close to him when they walk together, close enough that their elbows brush; requesting their meals be taken together with more frequency; and even, at one point, letting him win a chess game. Or, at least, win a chess game with far more superiority than he may have otherwise.

"Captain," he'd said pointedly as he reset the pieces into their correct order. "Have our games come to bore you?" It may have sounded innocent, bashful, if not accompanied by a quick glance up at his companion, eyebrows narrowed in what his fellow Vulcans would view as a blatant display of emotion.

"What?" Kirk had had the dignity to act as though baffled by his second-in-command's question. "Never! Why would you ask?"

Spock had pushed the final rook back into place as he'd said, "You lost purposely. I see no other logical reason for you to do so."

The man before him had shifted in his seat before releasing a loud and rather obvious yawn. "I suppose I'm just tired. Re-match tomorrow?"

Spock looks back on this particular episode in complete confusion. The only other experience he's had of this nature was the day, 1.5 years ago now, that Nyota had purposely failed a test that he knew, from both her proficiency in class and from her character, that she should not have. He'd confronted her that night.

And that night had ended with his first human kiss.

He sighs at the memory, thinking that if the incident at hand ends in a similar manner, there must be something more seriously wrong with his Captain than he previously thought.

-

Three days later, he wakes up, as always, one hour before Alpha shift begins, and spends approximately 10.3 minutes in the sonic shower before dressing in Starfleet regulation shirt and slacks and sitting on the edge of his bed. His socked feet meet solid ground and he stares at them and at his boots, two feet to his left, at the foot of the bed.

It is his day off.

He walks to his desk, picks up a data pad, and checks for any paperwork Kirk may have forgotten the previous night. There is none. He glances at the computer as he sets the pad near it, considers checking Starfleet's news database for activity. He decides against it.

He knows, after all, perfectly well what day it is.

-

When Kirk does not show up for their weekly match at the appointed time, Spock at last sets his meditation mat at its place against the wall and quickly blots the flames of the candles. He has spent the last seven hours in meditation and stretches before he is able to walk. A faint pop echoes through the barren room when he moves his right knee.

"Spock!" Kirk says when he answers his door moments later. "What are you- I mean, come in." The captain is in disarray, moreso, again, than usual. He runs a hand over his tousled hair in an attempt to calm it, yet his fatigue is still noticeable. He looks… pale.

Spock steps into the room and the door snaps shut behind him.

"Are you feeling alright, Jim?"

His captain stares at him as though he were speaking fluent Andorian before collapsing into the chair behind his desk. "Are you kidding me?"

"I am not skilled in the ways of Human humor, if that is what you mean."

Kirk let his head fall to one hand momentarily before growling, "Spock, you know what I- damnit! Are you okay?" He stands again, begins to pace the room.

Spock follows the man's path with his eyes as he speaks, "I am of adequate health."

Kirk looks as though he is about to erupt again into a fury of human emotion, but instead he stops and, as far away from Spock as he can be while being able to, reaches out and places his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Don't be stupid," he says, "I know what day it is."

Spock remains silent, looks beyond the tuft of blonde hair in his immediate vision.

"Spock," he says again, "Tell me what you're feeling."

The half-Vulcan closes his eyes, concentrates on the intake of breath that fills him from head to finger-tip.

"I feel nothing."

"Bullshit," Kirk says gently. And then, "What are you thinking, then?"

Spock reaches up and removes the man's hand gently from his shoulder before turning toward the door. "I am thinking of my mother."

Kirk is uncharacteristically quiet when he murmurs, "What about her?"

A memory, one year ago on this very day, floats to his awareness. A scarf about her head, skin tan from the warm Vulcan sky, his mother had looked upon him, every semblance of love a flame in her eyes. A hand, outstretched toward her only son, the son she had given everything for…

"You…" Spock concentrated once more. Inhale. Exhale. "You remind me of her."

He heard, rather than saw, Kirk take a step toward him.

"How so?"

"She watched me, as well, when she thought I'd lose control."

The laugh that escapes from Kirk's mouth is soft and bitter. "You noticed."

Spock's silence is his answer.

"It wasn't that I was afraid you'd lose control, I was just..." he searches for words, "worried, I guess."

"So was she," he says. He continues speaking before he can think to stop himself. "I became physically violent with a boy in my class once, when he insulted her. The resulting discussion with my father caused tension between us. Every day, she asked how I was feeling, and eventually… eventually, I stopped answering."

Kirk takes another step closer. "And if she asked now, you'd tell her 'nothing?'"

"No," his voice drops, "She saw and accepted me as both Human and Vulcan. As you do."

A pause. "And what would she tell you, if she were here now?"

Spock allows a small smile to grace his lips as his eyes fall shut again. Inhale. "She'd tell me to do what feels right."

Kirk's hand falls on his shoulder, pulls him gently to face him. His captains' arms are around him, large and cool, before he can exhale. Spock's hands hesitate as they find their way to Kirk's back, his head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"It seems," he says, voice muffled by the man's shirt, "that you have an easier time taking her advice than I do."

Kirk laughs, a strangled sound, through the tears Spock is unable to shed. "We can work on that."

Spock's arms are around him in full now, and Kirk speaks again, "Tell me how you feel."

He feels Jim's tears on his cheek; the man's hair is spread against his ear, matted by the wetness. "Confused."

The arms around him tighten.

He returns the gesture.

Exhale.


End file.
